


Amidst a Tumultuous Sea

by Adina



Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Genre: Gen, Harm to Animals, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-29
Updated: 2006-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1634702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adina/pseuds/Adina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's second case was less than glorious, finding a missing cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amidst a Tumultuous Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ellen Fremedon

 

 

"The Countess of Severn and Thames, my lord," Bunter announced from the doorway of the library.

Peter looked up from the book he had been examining, an interesting if not entirely proper example of the engraver's art, to find that formidable lady standing behind Bunter. Closing the volume expeditiously but without undue haste, he stood, placing the book on the table beside him as he did so, its potentially incriminating spine facing away from her.

"Godmama!" he said, taking several steps towards her. "How good to see you again."

She ignored the foolery but allowed him to help her to a seat on the leather sofa. "Honoria tells me you fancy yourself quite the detective now," she said without preamble.

His mother was unlikely to have said it quite like that. "I had some success in finding the Attenbury emeralds," he said blandly.

"Good enough," she snapped. "You can help find St. Helena."

He blinked slowly once or twice, allowing an expression of foolish bafflement to cross his face. "St. Helena? I believe it is in the south Atlantic, or at least that's where I found it last time I looked at the atlas. Has it gone missing?"

Lady Severn glared at him. "Ere I Saw Elba of Pemberley. Lady Pemberley's Siamese, her prize queen."

At the age of thirty-one he was being told off to find a missing moggie. "The cat's run off?"

Lady Severn sniffed and tapped her foot. "Lady Pemberley's husband was shot--killed--and now St. Helena is missing. The police are doing nothing to find her."

"I would think perhaps that they would be more concerned with Lord Pemberley's death," Peter said cautiously, amazed as ever at the cat fancier's priorities. "Er--shot how?" Murder, suicide, accident--

"The man was an ass." Lady Severn dismissed his death with a wave. "The police say he was shot by an intruder or some such thing. The intruder may have taken St. Helena, who, I might add, was bred by my Thomas three weeks ago." The last was said with pointed significance.

Thomas--officially named Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, a misspelling that never failed to annoy Peter--was Lady Severn's darling in ways that no mere son or godson could ever hope to be. "A cat in a delicate condition being more important that a murdered marquis?" he asked unnecessarily.

"Precisely." She stood to go. "Lord Pemberley isn't going to get any deader, after all," she said. She turned to go, so he might only have imagined her parting words, "More's the pity."

***

The Pemberley townhouse was a tall Georgian, in a pleasant square not far from Peter's own flat. He had visited once or twice with the Dowager Duchess and remembered the inside as showing both money and good taste, a rare combination in the post-War era, but could bring little to mind of its residents.

A policeman opened the door at his ring in poor imitation of a butler, but took him to Lady Pemberley after he had identified himself. A small gaggle of policemen were visible through the open door of the drawing room, along with a rather large pool of gore threatening to permanently stain the floor, but they passed by to the dining room where a lady was sitting.

"Lady Pemberley?" She was younger than he expected, closer to his own age than to Lady Severn's. "I was sorry to hear of your loss." She might even have been younger than he; she was so drawn and white it was impossible to guess her age exactly, not that a gentleman such as himself would ever attempt such a feat.

"Thank you," she said in a thin and strained voice. "Roger--" She choked and turned away. He pretended not to notice while she put herself back together, which she did with admirable speed. "You're--you're Lady Severn's nephew, aren't you?"

"Godson, actually." The policeman had announced his name when he entered, but she wouldn't have had time to look him up in the jolly old stud-book, even assuming she gave heed to any pedigree that didn't meow. "Lady Severn tells me you are worried about St. Helena on top of your recent loss," he said, injecting a note of question.

"Oh--" She waved that away with an unconvincing chuckle. "I'm sure she just ran off in the--in the--I'm sure she's just hiding in the attic or cellar or something." She gave a laugh even less convincing than the last. "She'll come out when she's hungry. That's what Roger used to say." Her voice broke on her husband's name and she hid her face in a handkerchief that showed more than a few signs of recent use.

"St. Helena w--isn't your only cat, is she?" he asked, looking around wondering if the entire mewling mass weren't going to come cavorting into the room. "I had rather gathered from Lady Severn that it was like an addiction--you couldn't have just one."

Her laugh this time was almost genuine. "Oh, no! But St. Helena is the only one who lives--lived--" She broke off with a gulp.

"Lives, surely," he corrected gently.

She gave a wan smile, taking strength from the reassurance. "Thank you, Lord Peter." He could only hope it wasn't misplaced. "She was--is--the only one who lives in the house. The rest are housed in the old carriage house. Roger--Roger didn't care for animals in the house."

"Mews in the mews, what?" He wondered how long it would take her to move the menagerie inside now that Lord Pemberley couldn't object.

***

An unexpectedly familiar face, one of the detectives assigned to the Attenbury case, greeted him when he disengaged himself from Lady Pemberley and ventured into the drawing room. "Inspector Parker, how good to see you again," he said with as much pleasure as surprise. The man had considerably more tact and infinitely more intelligence than Inspector Sugg, whom he had also encountered in the Attenbury mess.

"Lord Peter." They shook hands, Parker looking no more loath to meet him here than he Parker. "Are you acquainted with the family?" He nodded towards the dining room and Lady Pemberley.

"My godmother, the Countess of Severn and Thames, asked me to look in on the matter. She appears to have gained an exulted view of my association with the police."

Parker's grin was almost a smirk. "Wants you to find the cat, does she?" At Peter's jerk of surprise he gave a solemn shake of his head. "Lady Severn was with Lady Pemberley when she returned home this evening and found the body. Lady Severn was most insistent that we drop everything to find the cat."

Peter frowned, niggled by something he couldn't quite catch. "That recently?" Parker only looked at him questioningly. "The murder was that recent?"

Parker raised his brows. "Didn't Lady Severn say?"

"She wasn't long on non-feline-related details," Peter said in his driest voice.

"The medical man puts the death at three o'clock this afternoon, plus or minus forty-five minutes," Parker said. "The servants had the afternoon off, and Lady Pemberley was out shopping. She met Lady Severn just before she returned and they arrived together to find the body."

"Lady Pemberley is convinced the cat is still in the house," Peter mused aloud. "Or at least she wants to be convinced."

Parker drew him the rest of the way into the drawing room and pointed to a window whose draperies were swaying gently in the chill breeze. "The window was broken during the--events--of the afternoon. The cat could be anywhere."

Events. Not murder, not even altercation. "Lady Severn said you suspect an intruder?" he offered as a trial balloon.

Parker's grimace promptly shot it down. "Lady Severn draws her own conclusions." He gestured to the window. "What's wrong with that theory?"

Asked like that the answer was obvious. "The broken glass is all outside?" None, or very little, could be seen on the floor.

Parker nodded. "Plus, who breaks into a house through a front window in the middle of the afternoon?"

Unlikely at best. "What is your theory then?" Peter asked, skirting the outside of the room to examine the window himself.

Parker followed him. "The gun was Lord Pemberley's own, with his fingerprints on the trigger and barrel. Residue on his right hand suggests that he fired it at least once."

The glass had shattered completely, allowing Peter to stick his head out the window to see the shards scattered across the bottom of the area some twelve feet below. Peter pulled his head back in and looked at Parker. "Suicide?"

Parker shrugged. "Possibly. More likely accidental death--he was drunk and it was only a .22, not the suicide's first choice."

An idiot who messed with firearms while drunk was little loss to the world, though his nearest and dearest might not agree. "Not the first choice when confronting a housebreaker either." There were only a few pieces of glass inside. "Hello," he exclaimed, kneeling carefully to get a better look at the floor.

"What?" Parker crouched beside him.

Peter pointed to a spot no bigger than a two-pence. "Blood, if I'm not mistaken."

Parker stood up, signalling to a subordinate. "Pemberley must have cut himself on the glass. Lends credence to the accident theory if he broke the window while fooling around drunk. If it's his, of course." He pointed the blood spot out to the policeman who had arrived at his signal. "Check that, would you? Let's make sure it was Lord Pemberley's."

Peter moved out of the man's way as he knelt down with scraper and tube. "I suspect you'll find it's cat blood," he said apologetically. "There appears to be a bit of fur or something stuck in it."

"Cat cut his paw getting out the window?" Parker suggested.

Peter leaned out the window again, frowning down at the clean-swept pavement, clean of any litter beyond the shattered glass. "Perhaps." After a moment of further contemplation he turned away. "Oh, I say, Lady Pemberley--Can't just leave her to moulder in the dining room all evening, what? And it really wouldn't do to expect her to stay here alone tonight, enough to give anyone insomnia. Any objection if I escort her to my godmother's and see if she'll put her up for the night?"

"None at all."

***

Lady Pemberley was promptly installed in a guest room by Lady Severn, with a litter of half-grown kittens to entertain her. Peter took the introduction of the kittens' mother into Lady Pemberley's lap, with her subsequent reduction to tears, as his cue to fade out of the scene. He decided to walk back to his flat, allowing the cool night air to blow the cobwebs out of his brain. No amount of air was sufficient to erase all suspicions.

"Ah, Bunter," he said when the door was opened before he could find his key. "Bring the telephone directory to me in the library, would you? The business listings. It's too late to do much calling tonight, but I want to get a start on the morning."

***

_The voice on the telephone was a nice plummy one, aristocratic. He started speaking as soon as she answered. "I say, there's been a frightful muddle, what? M'mother's cat, St. Helena, you don't have her, do you? M'sister was in a spot of panic yesterday--"_

***

Lady Severn's butler opened the door on the second ring, allowing Peter to cross the threshold with a bounce in his steps and set his burden on the hall table.

"Good morning, my lord," the butler said, accepting hat and coat. "Her ladyship and Lady Pemberley are breakfasting in the yellow parlour. Shall I announce you?"

"You may, Jamison, you may," he said jauntily. "You can even bring me a plate, if I may presume on an invitation to breakfast. Long morning, up with the larks, busy as the bees."

"Very good, my lord." Jamison nodded at the object on the hall table. "Shall I carry that for you, my lord?" he asked, as if wicker cat-baskets were standard luggage for visitors to the household. Such might even have been the case in Lady Severn's employ.

"No, no, I'll manage it," Peter said, suiting actions to words.

Both ladies looked up from their meals when Jamison announced, "Lord Peter Wimsey, my lady." At the sight of the cat-basket in Peter's hand Lady Severn gave a pleased smile and a regal nod of thanks. Lady Pemberley went white.

"Good morning, Godmama, Lady Pemberley. Topping morning." After Jamison bowed his way out Peter set the basket on the table, prompting a vocal protest from its inmate. "I've come to return your prodigal son--or rather daughter--to you, though the veterinary surgeon recommends against slaughtering the fatted calf for a day or two until the effects of surgery wear off."

"Surgery!" Lady Severn exclaimed, reaching for the basket only to find Lady Pemberley there first. Lady Pemberley's hands were shaking, Peter noted. As soon as she had the top unlatched, a beige and brown head appeared, weaving slowly in circles. With a cry Lady Pemberley snatched the cat up, cradling it to her breast. A deafening purr counter-pointed Lady Pemberley's silent tears.

"Surgery?" Lady Severn repeated more quietly.

"It's a strange thing," Peter said with one eye on the new widow. "But at nearly the same time Lord Pemberley was meeting his death, a woman giving her name as Mrs. Pen took St. Helena to the vet. surgeon with a bullet in her side, a .22 calibre to be precise. They were able to remove it, despite some degree of anxiety with regard to her life and kittens, only to face renewed anxiety this morning of a more financial nature on discovering that no Mrs. Pen resided at the address provided. They willingly released St. Helena to me upon payment of her bill, which had reached substantial levels."

Lady Severn turned her gaze on Lady Pemberley, whose head was now bowed over her cat's bandaged side. "I--see." The look she gave Peter was half warning, half entreaty.

Peter accepted a plate of bacon and eggs from Jamison, waiting until he had withdrawn to continue. "The police have determined that Lord Pemberley shot himself, either accidentally or deliberately. It would be--an unkindness--to introduce the cat motif or Mrs. Pen into their simple, settled picture." Lady Pemberley was watching him now with wary eyes. "Mrs. Pen--" He took a sip of tea. "One might suppose that Mrs. Pen saw Lord Pemberley shoot the cat. Perhaps he even threatened her with the gun as well."

"Perhaps he did," Lady Pemberley said bitterly. "Perhaps she thought St. Helena dead. Perhaps he laughed at her grief! Perhaps she took the gun from him and--" She was shaking with fury.

"Oh, I say!" Peter interrupted before she could say anything that she couldn't take back. "That last isn't very likely, is it? The police are quite certain he managed it himself. No other fingerprints and whatnot." Unless Mrs. Pen were wearing gloves, of course, as a lady just home on a chilly afternoon might be supposed to be doing.

"Oh--oh, yes, of course," Lady Pemberley said faintly. "Perhaps--probably Mrs. Pen wasn't even there. In the house, I mean. She must have found St. Helena on the street and took her to the surgeon. I might have found her in a few days by calling around to the veterinary surgeons, or--or Mrs. Pen might even have written me a letter."

"Something like that," Peter agreed, though the lack of bloody paw-prints on the area paving made such a story unlikely to be believed. "It would be a shame to subject such an altruistic woman to the curiosity of the police, don't you think?"

She nodded with a sideways glance at Lady Severn.

He turned to Lady Severn. "Perhaps you could provide St. Helena with room and board until after her bandages are removed? The vet. surgeon is of the impression for some reason that she is my mother's cat, accidentally shot by my scapegrace nephew, so he will not be surprised if a lady of a certain age brings her back for checkups."

"Certainly," Lady Severn said firmly. "Thomas will wish to ensure that his kittens are well."

 

 

 


End file.
